


Blossoming Hearts

by clarapaget



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/F, Semi-canon divergence, but only to fit the prompt, nervous Margo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 20:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarapaget/pseuds/clarapaget
Summary: Alice gets some flowers from an admirer.





	Blossoming Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Margo x Alice + flowers; prompt requested on tumblr from anonymous.

Margo had truly never been the one to fall absentmindedly in love, especially any kind of love that she defined as “love at first sight.” However, when sitting with Quentin and Eliot under the sun, Margo fixed her eyes on a particular blonde. She tucked herself inwardly, the blonde; her books pressed closely to her chest, eyes searching the Brakebills plaza for a secluded place. Margo watched her for a minute, entranced, before shaking away her vibrant thoughts. There was nothing more Margo hated then catching feelings, and the matter of catching them at light-speed compared to the fleeting attraction of lust.

It overwhelmed her, the idea that just from the fleeting image of the blonde girl, the minimal knowledge that she contained about her (brilliant Alice Quinn, sister of Charlie, Alice Quinn). So rationalism aside, Margo resorted to what she always did; her arbitrary, careless comments that carried empty air inside them.

“Hey, Alice, come join us,” Margo called to her, hand cupping the side of her mouth to amplify her voice. Alice, it appeared, was not particularly swayed by this, these following notions; by these mindless comments that floated her way. She removed herself from the plaza promptly and Margo watched her leave; her mouth twitching. Why was she so obsessed with driving away people?

Margo brushed it off and giggled, looking up at Eliot, who leaned against a stone pillar, sunglasses nearly sliding off the tip of his nose; a cigarette dangled from his fingers. Margo brought her knees to her chest, mimicking the smallness that Quentin tucked himself into. She had known him for the shortest time, but she could tell, without doubt, that he threw himself one hundred percent into his emotions. It was something Margo would laugh at him for, but in the private darkness of her life, would desperately pray for.

**✿ ✿ ✿**

Night swiftly fell across the Brakebills campus, wrapping its expansive arms around the student body, who brought their own bodies close to one another, drinks clashing and spilling across the floors of multiple student residencies. Alice had tucked herself into a small corner, hesitant to participate in the madness. It was getting late, indeed, and Alice had quite enough, deciding to head back to her bedroom.

The bedroom had been provided for the new students until they had been sorted into their disciplines. It was rugged and neat and the prim beds were hard beneath Alice.

Alice walked down the deserted hallway, her fingers trailing along the stone wall, feeling for grooves and little indents. So many stories resided in these walls, just like the stories of each person jamming themselves against the soft skin of another; beer washing down their shirts, all purchased with different intent, with a different style in mind; stories of predators and prey, the bully and the bullied.

It didn’t bother her the way it used to. In the past, she always needed to be the smart one; her parents didn’t care much, they coddled Charlie; Charlie, Alice knew and thought and believed, was the only one who actually loved her, was willing to teach her and be her friend. He’d been the leading light for so long in Alice’s life; she had often found herself pouring over books just to meet the speed of Charlie. But he was dead and it didn’t have to matter now; the kids with good parents, kind and helpful and faithful parents, who coddled them and taught them and never worried if they failed a class or got a horrible grade; Alice could watch them, and be sad for a little bit, but it didn’t have to bother her, because she would never get the life they had.

When she got to her bedroom the light was filtered; the room dark and barely illuminated. However, in the faint light, Alice could see a small outline on the bed; a lump, not that bigger than a cat. She’d dealt with her predators before and prepared to shoot a spell in the direction of the outline.

Alice flipped the light on and flooded the room with a shattering brightness and Alice began forming shapes with her fingers before realizing there wasn’t any animated creature, any animated prank, any animated bullying. It, instead, was a bundle of flowers; red, white, pink, all wrapped with a simple tweed string. Though still unsure, Alice slowly moved hesitantly toward the flowers.

She noticed a little note tied to one of the fresh, green stems. With timid fingers, Alice reached for the note; a crisp white little card that had scrawling handwriting, curves, and dips. There were only had a few words, but it took up the entirety of the note.

_‘Sorry about earlier,_

_I can be a bitch sometimes’_

_— M_

Immediately her mind was pulled to the girl from the plaza, legs splayed in front of her, sitting with two boys; one tall and smoking, the other drawn into himself, nervously watching her. He had come to apologize about the girl's behavior, after, and when Alice was in no mood to engage in conversation.

Alice placed down the note, though it lingered between her fingers for just a moment longer than intended, before lifting up the bouquet and bringing it to her nose. The petals tickled the tip of her nose, but the smell was incredible; it had been magicked with an aromatic spell, and, also, what Alice thought, was a ‘long-lasting’ charm. A brief smile passed her lips.

This, she knew, could not make up backhanded comments; quick sneers; voiceless assumptions; but it was more then Alice could’ve ever received. Quentin tried apologizing on behalf of the girl, but there are some things better left for the perpetrator to say. Though, Alice would’ve preferred the occurrence happen in person.

“Hey.” A soft voice crept from the narrow doorway. Speak of the Devil.

Alice swung around, hair twirling around her gentle head. At the door stood the girl from the plaza; she wore what she had been wearing then when she’d spat shielded hatred toward her, it struck Alice.

“Did you give me these flowers?” Alice asked though it came out as more of a demand than anything else. She still held them, in her hand, which had clenched suddenly. The stems screamed between her furious grip, which had once been soft, only moments ago.

“Yes,” the girl said. “I didn’t know what to get someone, really, after I’ve ridiculed them.” Alice remained quiet and the girl carried on in hopes of breaking the silent spell. “I say shit, all the time, to everybody. This time I felt fucking weird afterward, for being ignorant and rude to you. Shit, Alice, I really don’t apologize often enough to know how to do this properly.”

Alice paused, grabbing a moment to take it in. She knew her name, she wasn’t subtle about that. Clearly, she knew more about Alice; at least, enough to know where her bedroom was. There must’ve been actual work behind this girl getting her a bouquet of flowers; laying them on her bed… lurking in the shadows.

“What’s your name?”

“Margo.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Alice whispered as Margo slunk further into the room without notice. “Don’t worry, I don’t get apologized often enough to. So I guess we’re both lacking something of that respect.”

“Well, I tried my best to make it formal. Didn’t even ask for Eliot’s help this time; well, I don’t think I’ve ever asked him for help in anything period, but all the same,” Margo laughed. For a minute, Alice could swear she saw a sparkle shine in Margo’s eyes; a quick glance of the sun; smiling, beaming brightly.

“Would you like to stay for a bit?” Alice asked. She took a step toward Margo, almost as if to reach for her hand; drag her to the bed so they could sit and chat for a bit.

“Actually, I have to get back to a party. I saw you leave and took the chance to appear in person,” Margo stated, though, seeing the frown that instantly passed Alice’s mouth, rerouted her words. “Just fucking with you! Of course, I can stay.”

Alice took this opportunity to grab Margo’s hand, which was soft beneath her own fingers, which her mother had always regarded as thick and rough; fingers not fit for a girl, fingers that she had inherited from her father. It overtook Alice for a moment; this girl has good parents, or had them once, and lost them miserably; though, whatever her story, she’d lived something good a short time ago. Alice could feel the world trembling in the small, gentleness of Margo’s hand; it rocked her, calmly, as she brought Margo to the bed.

They sat, together, for the night. Mostly in quiet, though they spoke some of magic. Alice told her about Charlie; finally confident that someone might be able to understand her need to be smart; that someone else couldn’t channel their emotions they way they wanted. That could be something they shared, something they could help each other with, Alice thought. She wanted this moment to stay forever; the flowers, Margo’s soft palm, the sparkle in Margo’s eyes, the warmth that surrounded Alice’s own heart.


End file.
